


Unsettled

by lunchinanelevator



Category: Good Wife (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-07 09:59:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunchinanelevator/pseuds/lunchinanelevator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 3x21. Lana's learned some things and leaked to the press, and Kalinda's the center of a scandal of her own …</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is how I thought the husband would enter the picture post-3x21. After some consideration, I've decided I still like the story. More to come …

1.

By the fourth day of headlines Kalinda’s bone-weary, her body held upright by tension alone.

She’s taken to arriving at the office at odd hours to avoid the second-year associates’ stares, and still some beer-bellied dude with a camera or hand recorder manages to pop up practically everywhere she goes. She’s scoured every inch of her car for a GPS tracker in the morning and evening, but she’s been too drained to investigate the other possibilities.

She slips into the elevator at eleven-thirty, after a particularly trying dance with a sprightly college journalist ready to pounce in the parking garage. She hasn’t experienced this kind of jumpiness in five years; it’s so foreign, so achingly familiar. She holds herself rigid in the elevator—it’s seen enough of her weaknesses already—but speeds through the glassy halls of the twenty-seventh floor and folds herself into her office chair as if into a cocoon. She opens her laptop, catching a glimpse of her reflection on the sunlit screen as she turns it on, exhaustion scratching the edge of her eyes.

Kalinda’s probably seen more images of her face in the last three days than she had in the previous six years, everywhere from the _Sun-Times_ to TMZ. Lana clearly has a few very well-placed sources eager to publicize her leaks. The story seems to be irresistible to the public—bisexual woman with a mysterious past, creating a new identity in a post-September 11 era. (Of course all the evidence hadn’t been erased; how had Kalinda been fool enough to believe it had? Peter Florrick didn’t have that kind of power, no more than anybody else.) Half the things Kalinda’s gone through hell to hide are on display, and it’s reaching the point where she sees them in a mirror more clearly than she sees herself.

“Hey.”

Kalinda looks up, startled, swallows. “I thought you were in court,” she says.

“Settled last night. Or more precisely, this morning. At about one.” Alicia shakes her head. She’s lounging against Kalinda’s doorway, casual in a way that makes Kalinda jumpy somehow. Why should Alicia be relaxed around her, why should anyone? “He wants to work with Cary from now on, anyway—he ‘likes his attitude.’” She affects the pompous, low-pitched voice of Donald Pomeroy, who owns a dozen casinos in Indiana and has been embroiled in tangled lawsuits against the state of Illinois and the city of Chicago. The truth is Alicia probably should have recused herself a while ago.

“I’m sure he does.”

Alicia shrugs. “I remember when that would have seemed like—the death knell for my career. Now I can’t wait for Cary to take him off my hands.”

“Times change.” Kalinda attempts a smile, but she’s never been much good at that. Her voice sounds compressed.

Alicia cocks her head. “Are you doing all right?”

The compassion is like a needle at her vein. Kalinda can’t afford to bleed. “Yeah.”

Even looking a little past Alicia’s eyes, Kalinda can see them glaze, go cold. “All right. I’ll see you later. Let me know when you have the photos for the Rystock case.”

 _I can’t be the only one being forthcoming._ Fuck. Kalinda knew the friendship was too much for her, even before her own scandal began. “Alicia. Wait.” Alicia turns on her heels at the doorway, that same stillness, the icy lines of her blue-gray blazer. “I don’t want to be—you know. It’s just …”

That’s all the words she has for this. For the last few days it’s been dangerous even to open her mouth. She watches the woman in the doorway, her suit smooth over her hips, pausing, hovering.

Then, to Kalinda’s surprise, Alicia walks back to her desk, sits down. “I know,” Alicia says. “Believe me, I understand.”

It’s memory on Alicia’s face, not sympathy, not fury, not pity, as Kalinda dares to look up. “Yeah,” she says.

“It’s that FBI agent?” Alicia says.

“Yeah.”

“Does she have anything else on you?”

“I didn’t know she had this much.”

“Someone caught you off guard? I didn’t think it was possible.”

Kalinda smiles as much as she can.

“Do you know where she’s getting it?” Alicia asks.

“Not yet.”

“None of it?”

“A bit. There’s a bit I told her,” Kalinda says. “I didn’t think …”

“That she’d take it to the press?” Alicia rolls her eyes. “You’ve obviously never made a woman angry before.” 

Kalinda stares at Alicia, and soon enough Alicia smiles, confirming the joke and the memory. Kalinda laughs, and Alicia joins in, and there, in the middle of all of this, relief.

“They’re everywhere,” Kalinda says when their laughter bubbles down.

“I remember that,” Alicia says. “It’s as if the entire city … like they all turned into you, Kalinda.”

Kalinda grimaces.

“You don’t know how they find out half the things they know. Or how they figure out where you’ll be. I mean, you probably know, but I never did.” Alicia shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Kalinda. That you have to go through this.”

“Thanks.” Kalinda swallows. “Alicia.”

“Yes?”

“I …” Her finger starts tapping frantically against the edge of the desk. “This could … get to you. And, um, your family.”

Kalinda has seen it too many times now, this moment when Alicia’s face shifts, rigidifies. Even now, even in these days of shock and invasion, there’s little else that can make Kalinda’s gut twist with this kind of fear.

“Peter?” Alicia says, finally.

“Yeah.”

The silence thins the air in the room, making it difficult for Kalinda to breathe.

“Because …” Alicia is thinking. Kalinda wishes she would stop. “Because when you got … when you changed your name … Peter was part of …”

“He … helped.”

Alicia gives a crisp nod, takes in a little breath. “And so you … helped?”

“I did.”

“Oh.” It’s a small, defeated sound, and Alicia is looking over Kalinda’s shoulder, out the window, over the neighboring skyscrapers. Kalinda is going to lose her again, now when she no longer even has this name to hide behind.

Alicia refocuses, brings her gaze back to Kalinda. “Did he ask you to?”

“Sorry?” Kalinda nearly chokes on the word.

“When he … after you had your name … is that what Peter …”

Kalinda doesn’t want to answer this. The muscles in her calves tense.

Alicia arches an eyebrow, imperious. “Kalinda. Did he ask you?”

There’s forthcoming, and then there’s forthcoming. Kalinda’s not going to answer. She shifts her gaze over Alicia’s shoulder, into the hallway. Second-year associates, paralegals, Julius Kane, Cary rush by, on their way to work on something else, pretending they’re not looking in.

Alicia stands up, brushes through Kalinda's doorway without another word.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hi.”

Kalinda looks up. She’s silhouetted in profile, sitting in the dark office and lit only slightly by the glow pulsing up from the city streets behind her. Weirdly, though, Alicia thinks she can see the shape of her eyelashes. 

She feels Kalinda’s surprise, and Alicia’s a little surprised herself. There’s no reason she should be speaking to Kalinda, no reason to square off against another round of pain. But even in shadow it’s clear Kalinda is tense, as hunched over as she ever gets, and Alicia feels a strange need to respond.

For a couple of days it seemed likely that the story would die down; certainly the rest of the Lockhart/Gardner staff had stopped talking about it, and Alicia thought Kalinda might be lucky enough to have had only fifteen minutes of fame, rather than the hours Alicia herself had to endure. But yesterday some enterprising member of the Associated Press—prompted, perhaps, by Agent Delaney—had gotten hold of Leela Tahiri’s arrest record and even a scan of a mug shot, old enough that its edges were ragged, might have been chewed by some small rodent. Alicia hadn’t read the article, found she didn’t want to know.

“Hey,” Kalinda says, regrouping enough to speak, though quietly. “Late night?”

“Rystock,” says Alicia by way of explanation. “The last brief.”

“You should go home,” says Kalinda tersely, turning back towards the window. “Your kids are waiting.”

“They’re at Peter’s.”

Even in the dark Alicia can see Kalinda flinch. “Right,” she says, almost too quietly for Alicia to hear.

When will a subject ever be safe?

Alicia has the strange urge to fill the space around them with talk. “I hate to say it,” she says, “but I like having a few nights without them. Where I get to … learn how to be by myself. I learned how to be self-sufficient, but … I’ve never lived alone. I’ve never been alone.”

Kalinda nods.

“When we got the apartment, I did feel better,” Alicia says. “Safer. But it was still … I was rushing from place to place, and my mother-in-law … was my mother-in-law. 

“I like the quiet,” Alicia adds.

They sit in that quiet for a while. The last time Alicia left Kalinda’s company she was raw and wounded, and she’s been waiting for the name “Florrick” to grace Gawker once again. She hasn’t mentioned the situation to Peter, figures he’s following Kalinda’s scandal as much as she is, if not more closely, and that even if he doesn’t tell her about his connection to it, at least she was warned.

And she feels an odd appreciation for Kalinda’s warning. It makes her remember what it was like to be friends with her before, how attuned Kalinda was to Alicia’s needs and her vulnerabilities, how hard Alicia herself had to work to detect the same things in Kalinda. 

Standing in this room now, Alicia also remembers how good she once was at listening to Kalinda, understanding her. The force of Kalinda’s anger and frustration and fear vibrates through Alicia, touches off something surprisingly protective, makes her want to help Kalinda, the way she never really could, so determined has Kalinda always been to help herself.

There’s an echo of Kalinda’s voice in her head from what feels like a thousand years ago. “ _I do trust you_.” But even then Alicia had understood that it wasn’t really true.

“I know who her source is.” Kalinda’s voice is closer to silence than sound.

“Yes?”

“My husband.”

Kalinda’s not looking at her, which is a relief, means Alicia doesn’t have to react. She takes a few seconds before she decides to speak.

“Leela was married?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you …” Alicia’s not sure what question she wants to ask. She stops.

Kalinda just says, her voice full of fissures and hairline cracks, “He knows where I am. And—and he’s known a while. I thought I had … I just …”

Alicia is not sure she’s ever heard Kalinda like this, her sentences breaking into pieces. Without hesitation, she takes a few steps forward and puts a hand on Kalinda’s shoulder, knowing the move is inadequate but wanting to offer the other woman an anchor. In an automatic, unpracticed gesture Kalinda reaches her own hand up and rests it on Alicia’s. Alicia glances sideways at Kalinda: her face is a collage of shadows and the liquid threatening to overflow from her eyes catches glints of the light from the street.


	3. Chapter 3

“You shouldn’t be here,” Kalinda says softly.

“I am here.” Alicia stands in the doorway, statuesque as usual. “Will you let me in?”

Kalinda steps aside, and Alicia brushes past her, takes the setting in while Kalinda shuts the door. She watches Alicia look at the walls, look at the furniture. She watches Alicia. She watches Alicia and almost forgets the week, the news, the inevitable. 

Alicia turns to Kalinda and quirks an eyebrow. “I like what you’ve … done with the place?”

Her poker face is too perfect to be true, and, helplessly, Kalinda laughs, letting it spill into the room. The day has been long and silent, and there’s something welcoming about the sound. Alicia joins her. Still, again, the sound of Alicia’s laughter mingling with her own loosens the tension in Kalinda’s chest, just a little, a few knots slipping out. She leans into it, leans towards Alicia.

“She said it wasn’t over,” Alicia says when their breathing calms.

“Hmm?”

“Your FBI friend.” An odd expression crosses Alicia’s face at the words. “She said I should tell you this wasn’t over. I probably should have told you that.”

Yes, she should have. And maybe Kalinda could have headed this all off at the pass.

“It’s never over,” says Kalinda, exhaling a little.

They wait in silence for a second. Kalinda doesn’t have anything else to say.

“It was strange,” Alicia says. “Not to have you there today.”

“Strange not to be there,” Kalinda says.

Yesterday afternoon Diane had called Kalinda into her office. Given how the firm had suffered with Will’s suspension, their reputation simply couldn’t handle the weight of another scandal. Already they had begun to lose clients. “You understand, Kalinda,” Diane said.

And she did, of course she did.

Alicia could continue to represent her, Diane said, but until all of this resolved Kalinda could not be working their cases. The clients. Kalinda understood.

Kalinda had nodded, numbly, the grand jury subpoena still itching beneath her bra strap. She’d left Diane’s office, left the building, gone home, found herself lost with nothing to do. Several times today her phone buzzed with Alicia’s strategic emails (the only sounds Kalinda heard all day), but Kalinda knows they don’t have a ham sandwich’s chance in hell. This is endgame.

“Will missed you,” Alicia says.

Kalinda smiles a little. “Of course. Someone has to keep him entertained.”

“He says he can’t offer legal advice, but …”

They both laugh, and then Kalinda says, a little too eagerly, “But what?”

“But you should call him if you need him.”

Kalinda says, “Oh.” She’s disappointed; she was hoping Will had imparted some miraculous trial strategy to Alicia, not that Alicia wouldn’t come up with it herself. And she won’t call Will. She can’t imagine calling Will. “How are you two?” she says, and is then shocked that she asked it.

Alicia is probably equally surprised, but she swallows it. “Fine. We’re all right.”

“Good.”

Alicia looks thoughtful. Her face is calm, at ease in a way she hasn’t been in Kalinda’s presence for so long, so long. Kalinda studies the lines in her face, the swoop of her bangs over her eyebrow, loves, even in the middle of all this, that she can look at Alicia without sadness streaking through her throat. “I guess I was expecting—”

The phone buzzes.

Kalinda’s. She snatches it up reflexively, snaps, “Hello?”

“There she is.”

The breath flies from Kalinda’s body. Answer. She has to answer.

“There I am,” she chokes out. The sound of her voice makes Alicia look at her sharply.

“I’ve missed you, Leela.” His voice is low, laced with the confidence that he has all the cards. She wishes he weren’t right.

“Can’t—can’t say the same.”

“That’s a shame,” he says. “I’ll see you soon.”

Kalinda barely hears the click as he ends the call. With her free hand she claws for the wall as she stumbles backward against it, catches the startled look on Alicia’s face before her vision blacks out.

She’s dizzy. Does he know where she lives? Lana wouldn’t have gone that far, would she? But she wouldn’t have known how far he would go.

“Kalinda!”

Her vision fades back in and Alicia’s face is hovering in front of her, marred with concern and fear. For her, for Kalinda. She’s hurting Alicia again. Kalinda can’t look at Alicia like that, so she kisses her.

The room, the apartment, the universe still for a moment. Kalinda’s about to pull her lips away, attribute it to a moment of panic, but she can’t, she can’t. And then Alicia’s lips are responding, her tongue reaching out for Kalinda’s, first gently and then with greater urgency. She tastes of bread and wine.

Alicia grasps the back of Kalinda’s neck, pulls their faces together more firmly. Kalinda’s hand slides down Alicia’s back, starts to untuck her blouse.

Alicia breathes into Kalinda.

Kalinda’s nerve endings are lighting up like sparklers. She knows, she _knows_ , this isn’t safe, in a way Alicia can’t understand. But Kalinda can’t think of anything else she wants right now, is having a hard time thinking of anything else she’s ever wanted. Her panic flows into her kisses: if she doesn’t have this now, she will never have this. The sweet, slightly chemical smell of Alicia’s hair, the salt of the flesh on her shoulder, the crisp silky edge of her bra as Kalinda unbuttons her shirt—all of these things are Kalinda’s, _Kalinda’s_ , as she is pretty sure nothing else will be again.

They stop for a second, only to breathe, only to look at each other’s eyes, only to wait.

“Are you sure?” Alicia says quietly as her fingers thread through Kalinda’s hair.

Kalinda swallows, nods. This may be the last thing she will ever be sure of. “Yeah. Are you?”

She expects some hesitation, but Alicia just says, “Yes,” and Kalinda doesn’t need to be told twice. She unhooks Alicia’s bra and fixes her lips to her breast; Alicia gasps as Kalinda’s tongue circles her areole.

“Mmmm,” Kalinda murmurs, anchoring one hand to Alicia’s shoulder, the other to her hips. Alicia leans against the wall, her breath ragged when the tips of Kalinda’s fingers come to rest just below the waistline of her trousers. She loves the texture of Alicia’s nipples, the sounds of her sighs. She brushes her fingers gently across Alicia’s lower belly.

If Kalinda can only have one thing before Nick comes back and makes her Leela, she wants this. She wants tonight. She kisses Alicia’s navel, undoes the button on her pants.

Then suddenly, fiercely, Alicia pulls her up and kisses her, a kiss that makes Kalinda forget everything that happened before it. “Not yet,” Alicia whispers into her hair, pulling down the zipper on her jacket, taking the whole of Kalinda’s breast into her hand. “We have to take care of you, too.”


	4. Chapter 4

Alicia jolts awake, sweaty and uncertain, struggling to collect herself. It has been a good many years since the place where she’s awoken has surprised her. Light is just beginning to filter in through the unfamiliar window, and finally she remembers that the bare walls, the stark, statuesque armchairs, the hand on her ribcage are all Kalinda’s.

Kalinda is still clinging to her, just as she was when they fell asleep, her delicate face slack above Alicia’s left breast. Alicia puts one hand in her hair absently, stroking the hanks that fell loose from the firm updo. Kalinda sighs a little into Alicia’s flesh, and when Alicia cranes her neck she can see that her lips are slightly parted.

Last night comes back to Alicia in flashes—the shivery thrill she felt at seeing Kalinda’s pendulous breasts unleashed (she hadn’t seen another woman topless since the college locker room, she was pretty sure, and none of those had ever grazed her cheeks); the raw, fierce kisses, tasting Kalinda’s pulse when she put her lips to her throat; Kalinda’s harsh cry as she came in pulses on Alicia’s hand, the sound winding out of her like thread.

When she recovered, she held Alicia to the wall outside her bedroom and slid the trousers of her suit down her hips, played her tongue across Alicia’s clit until starbursts of pleasure radiated out, up Alicia’s ribcage and down her thighs. She stood still, her head thrown back against the wall, holding onto Kalinda’s hands for dear life for what could have been hours, and then she pulled Kalinda up and they tumbled into the bedroom, kissing as if there was no tomorrow, Alicia throbbing with the desire to put her lips against every part of the woman in her arms.

Kalinda was crying after her second orgasm, when they finally and fully fell to bed, tears clinging like ice to her lashes. It scared Alicia a little, that she could have brought Kalinda to that, but she held her to her shoulder, pulled a too-white sheet up over them gently, and whispered into Kalinda’s hair _It’s all right, sweetie, I’m here, we’ll be okay, Kalinda, honey, it’s all right, it’s all right_ until the other woman relaxed in sleep, unfamiliar and comforting against Alicia’s torso.

In the early, sickly light, it seems inconceivable that she used such endearments for Kalinda (never mind that Kalinda accepted them without complaint).

She says it in her head now: “I slept with the woman who slept with my husband.” She hears it in the same shaken tone that was the voice of all her thoughts when she learned of Peter’s infidelities. It still sounds just as strange as it did drifting through Alicia’s head while she was falling asleep.

But the woman holding her is beautiful, glowing, and Alicia doesn’t want to regret it. She rubs a thumb absently along the ridge of Kalinda’s shoulder.

“You awake?” Kalinda murmurs.

“Yes,” Alicia says.

Alicia can only see one of Kalinda’s eyes, and barely, but even in her peripheral vision it’s clear it has opened wide, her one visible eyebrow shot up like a hawk. She sits up in a fluid motion, stares down at Alicia’s face and naked torso with something that looks like horror.

An old, familiar chill starts in Alicia’s gut. She resets her face so it’s still, braces herself. She doesn’t understand how she could have been so stupid. It’s _Kalinda_ , for god’s sake. Alicia has bared her throat—she has bared everything—knowingly to a predator. Even back when they were friends, it was abundantly clear that Kalinda was the love ‘em and leave ‘em type. Waking up with someone, anyone, is probably painful for her. And Alicia will be left to clothe herself in this white, white apartment and this white, white light, as if a dozen spotlights were shining on her, a dozen cameras flashing.

“Oh, Alicia,” Kalinda says, her voice thin and flat as sheet metal. Her face looks strange. She reaches for a stray strand of Alicia’s hair.

Alicia jerks her head away, and Kalinda looks still unhappier, her eyes cast down, teeth digging into her bottom lip.

“I shouldn’t have …” Her voice trails off.

“Shouldn’t have what?” Alicia snaps.

“Gotten you involved.” Kalinda’s eyes whip towards the wall, away from her.

Now Alicia can only see her in profile. She sits up herself, the sheet crumpling comfortably at her hips. This isn’t what she thought it was. There’s too much fear in Kalinda’s voice, too much tension in her posture. Time and time again, Alicia makes the mistake of thinking she knows or understands Kalinda, as if anybody could. She thinks of the headlines, the gossip in the office, the articles she hasn’t read, Andrew Wiley’s voice behind her. _Leela_. Leela Tahiri. The mug shot, grainy on the second page of the _Sun-Times_ metro section. Alicia will have to read all the articles now, she realizes, to represent Kalinda effectively. She doesn't want to.

“I was already _involved_ , Kalinda.” Alicia reaches for her shoulder. Kalinda shrugs her off. “We talked about this when you asked me to represent you.”

Kalinda whirls. “Don’t act like this isn’t different.” There are tears on her face.

This is all starting to confuse Alicia. Until last night she had never seen Kalinda cry, hadn’t really thought that she could. Weeks of scandal seem to have stripped the in-house investigator of her veneer.

Alicia supposes she can understand that.

She thinks now of that phone call, lying forgotten in the heat of the rest of the night. Kalinda’s eyes glazing, the color draining from her lips. She wonders what it was about.

“I know,” Alicia says.

“You think you know how bad a scandal can get, Alicia. You don’t. You don’t even know the beginning.” 

Alicia hears _To me you were just the housewife_. It takes her a second to speak.

“Really, Kalinda?”

“You never hurt anyone.”

Alicia isn’t sure what that means.

“I—I could destroy your family already, Alicia. If anyone knows this … and if he … Lana doesn’t get it. You don’t get it. This could go further than you understand, and if you—”

“Did you just put me in the same category as Agent Delaney?”

Kalinda smiles unhappily. “Please, Alicia. I can’t do this to you.”

“Do what?” Alicia says, startling herself with the provocative tone.

Kalinda’s eyes flash for a second, but she says, “It’s not worth it. This is your career, Alicia. I’m your client.”

“This is my life, Kalinda. I make decisions as a consenting adult.” Alicia can’t believe she’s having this conversation naked. “You make yours. If this was a mistake, tell me it was your mistake. But don’t tell me it was mine.”

They stare at each other for a moment. Alicia isn’t sure what she’s saying. She studies the woman beside her. Kalinda fell asleep with her makeup smeared by tears—why would someone like Kalinda Sharma bother with waterproof mascara, Alicia supposes—and there’s a blurred, unfamiliar messiness to her face.

She takes Kalinda’s cheeks in her hands and kisses her, her mouth as startlingly warm and rich as it was the night before. Kalinda leans into Alicia, places her hands on her bare waist, but when Alicia strokes a hand down Kalinda’s spine she pulls away.

“Will you go?” she says softly.

Alicia stares.

“I’m serious, Alicia.” Her face contorts, she squeezes the sheets in her hands, but she doesn’t drop her gaze. “It’s—”

“You don’t have to explain,” Alicia says brusquely. She has had enough of this. She stands up, casting her eyes about the room for her clothing, realizing her pants are still in the hallway. She ducks around the doorway for them, and as she turns around she catches the expression of naked lust on Kalinda’s face.

“See something you like?” she snaps.

“Alicia.” Kalinda swallows. “You would—or I would—or Lana—it’s already …” Her next words are almost too quiet to be heard. “I’d never forgive myself.”

“I think maybe,” says Alicia as she fastens her bra, buttons her blouse, “someone else should take your case. Someone who is a little less … _invested_. I know that rules Cary out. You’ll have to tell me who else.”

Kalinda doesn’t say anything.

“I’ll talk to Diane,” says Alicia, running quick fingers through her hair and trying to stop her hands from shaking. “We’ll figure something out.” She marches into the living room, where she slips her feet back into her pumps and picks up her purse. Kalinda still hasn’t moved. “Do you need to lock behind me?”

Kalinda shrugs.

“Thanks for a lovely night,” says Alicia. “I can certainly see the appeal.” She didn’t mean to say that, and Kalinda’s posture seems to falter, but her eyes stay pinned to Alicia. Alicia can tell that only by feel, since she has no intention of looking back.


	5. Chapter 5

The days flood by Kalinda, blurring as they pass.

Diane takes over the case. Kalinda listens as she floats strategies, some of which don’t sound like they’re entirely hers, and she comments on these strategies from a distance, thinking about the last time she went before a grand jury—Illinois, then, not the federal that’s hounding her now—and then trying not to. She’ll take instructions. She’ll take anything now.

She pleads the Fifth, as Diane recommends. She’s worked relatively few federal cases and testified in even fewer, so the sound of her own “I refuse to answer on the grounds that it may incriminate me” echoing off the beams of this particular courtroom is startling, unfamiliar. She has no confidence in this voice—Leela’s, maybe—and indeed, two days later the federal grand jury returns an indictment. The charges bob past Kalinda: multiple counts of identity fraud, passport fraud, unlawful possession of a firearm. Maximum sentences of two years, eight years, ten years. She doesn’t trust herself to breathe.

On Diane’s advice, she turns herself in. It will be easier, Diane says, and Kalinda knows Diane knows these things. Still, it’s all she can do not to run away while they book her, and her heart skips several beats during arraignment when the prosecutor makes it clear that Kalinda is a flight risk and the judge bobs her head as he speaks.

Kalinda had somehow failed to consider the prospect of incarceration before trial. Days, weeks, of bars and passivity, being at the mercy of others. Cages. Public showers. Bishop’s people, Nick’s people. She flattens her palms against her skirt, looking at the bones in her wrists and fingers.

“That’s absurd, Your Honor.”

With the magnetism born of deep satisfaction with herself, her work, the world, Diane, all red blazer and gold brooch, bold makeup and matching heels, sways the judge, sways the room. It’s impossible, Kalinda thinks, to listen to Diane Lockhart argue without desperately wishing that you could side with her, be part of her team. This judge seems no exception; she sets bail so low that no one even bothers to cuff Kalinda before it’s paid. Kalinda nods to Diane in gratitude, knowing Diane understands.

There’s so much chaos as they walk out of the courthouse that it takes Kalinda a second to notice Lana. Kalinda looks her over, once, then turns on her heel to follow Diane.

“Kalinda.”

She hears Lana follow them around the corner. Lana catches up to Kalinda, puts a hand on her shoulder. Kalinda whirls.

They stare at each other. Lana speaks first. “I didn’t know it would go this far.”

Kalinda doesn’t say anything. She feels Diane notice that they’ve stopped, come up behind her.

Lana’s mouth works for a second. The words she finally forms are, “I did try to warn you.”

“If you need to justify this to yourself, Lana, go ahead. Don’t expect me to buy it.”

“Kalinda—”

The words rush out of Kalinda before she can stop herself: “What made you think you could believe anything he said?”

She doesn’t know how it happened: if Lana found Nick, if Nick came to Lana. She doesn’t know how long Lana has known, how long she’s held onto it. None of those are ways that Lana betrayed her.

The question seems to offend Lana. She straightens, cocks her head at Kalinda. “Well, it all turned out to be true, didn’t it?”

Kalinda almost laughs, but her throat’s too dry. “Idiot. You still don’t know what you’re doing.”

She turns around again, and Diane nods crisply and follows suit, but Lana’s quiet voice behind her says, “Wait.”

So Kalinda waits.

“They—we—they still don’t know how you did it,” Lana says. “How you got the documents.”

Kalinda notes Lana’s lowered eyes, the softness of her lashes on her cheeks. For just a second the idea of touching them, kissing them flashes through her mind, but she needs to stop it immediately; it will lead to other lashes, other cheeks.

“They want—they’ll want someone more powerful than you, someone who’s doing this for others. If you give them that—”

Kalinda trots ahead of Diane and towards the parking lot. With her usual long strides Diane has caught up to her in a matter of seconds. Kalinda doesn’t look over her shoulder to see if Lana is waiting, or if she’s turned around and left.

“She has a point,” Diane says as she unlocks her Mercedes.

Kalinda says, “I know.” She sinks into the passenger seat.

“If you can give them—”

“No.”

“It may be our best strategy, Kalinda.” In the last day or so, the name “Kalinda” has started to sound as if it squirms in Diane’s mouth. They pull out of the parking lot, turn right on Adams.

“Well, we need another one,” Kalinda answers.

“We don’t have a you on this.”

“Get one,” Kalinda says with a shrug. “You should probably hire a new one anyway.”

Diane brakes sharply as the light changes. “Yes, we probably should.”

It’s true, unquestionably, but the notion of losing Diane, losing her faith, losing Lockhart/Gardner in a real and permanent way, scratches uncomfortably at the edges of Kalinda’s heart. She doesn’t speak, just watches pedestrians stream past the windows on the corner of Michigan.

“They might find out anyway. Who it was,” Diane says finally.

“I know,” Kalinda says, biting her lip. “But they might not.”

****

They always meet at the office, as if Kalinda were an ordinary client; Diane doesn’t have the time or inclination for house calls. The stares here are worse than the stares in the street, in the courthouse, their intimacy unnerving. Not that many people at Lockhart/Gardner really know Kalinda, but she’s been a human presence in their lives, and they’re seeing through to something no Trib reporter would ever find, not if he followed her for days. What she loses here is worse than privacy.

In addition, of course, there’s the agonizing walk past Alicia’s door. Kalinda stares straight ahead every time, of course, but she can feel Alicia, the way she always could. (More so now, really, now that she knows the texture of Alicia’s lips, knows how Alicia’s hair felt against Kalinda’s inner thighs, knows a thousand other things she isn’t going to think about.) It becomes a challenge to make her legs move—steps are always a little stiffer by Alicia’s office, a little slower—but she never turns her head.

Today, leaving Diane, the walk feels different, and she steals a glance to her left to discover that Alicia isn’t there at all. She sweeps her gaze kitty-corner: Eli’s out as well. Crisis management, then, in one form or another. Soon Eli will be dropping all his clients, zooming in on the governor’s campaign.

Tomorrow Diane will receive the prosecution’s witness list, tomorrow Kalinda will have to explain where their star witness got his information. Lately, in her idle moments—and they are legion—Kalinda has found herself trying to come up with still another name. But it’s hard even to muster up the necessary energy.

The elevator dings. Kalinda starts; she hadn’t quite noticed the doors or the reception desk. But the door opens, and there is Alicia.

Kalinda gets in. Alicia doesn’t budge. The door slides closed.

Kalinda may hate the Lockhart/Gardner elevator more than she has ever hated an object.

“I heard,” says Alicia without preamble.

“Yeah.” Kalinda’s lips part to release the shallow breaths she’s taking.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“How can I not worry about it?”

“It’s not your responsibility.”

“Did you think I only—” Alicia shakes her head, as if to compose herself. “Only because it was my _responsibility_?”

“No,” Kalinda says.

“No what?”

“I didn’t think that.”

“Then what …” Kalinda glances at her, in spite of herself. Alicia’s face is at its softest and loveliest, and against her will, as always, the longing to touch Alicia floods to Kalinda’s fingertips. She tucks her hair behind her ears, then again, then again, hears the ding as if from a great distance.

She remembers, days ago, the moment between sleeping and waking when she knew it was Alicia’s arm resting on her shoulder blades, before she had the faculties to understand what that meant. There was a moment when that sweat between their skin was all Kalinda knew, all she needed to know.

“Alicia,” she says helplessly, her voice flat from lack of air. “You know we—you know it’s better.”

“No, I don’t know that. How could I know that?” Alicia’s face shifts back to wax. “How would I ever have gotten enough information to know that?”

“I want you to be safe, Alicia. And if—if your children lost you …”

“When you say something like that, what am I supposed to think?”

Kalinda blinks. “That maybe this is something to take seriously. I can’t have you in danger. You have to trust me.”

“I have to trust you?” Alicia says, the slightest trail of menace in her voice. “What do you think I’ve been doing? And where did it get me?”

They’ve reached the parking level and have been standing on the concrete strip outside the elevator, Kalinda frozen like a fox caught in headlights, Alicia like Kalinda doesn’t even know what. Like a wave.

“You don’t let me in on these decisions, Kalinda. If you’d told me the truth—if you had ever told me the truth—” Her voice starts to shake, and Kalinda shakes a little along with it. “But you don’t trust me. You’re never going to trust me. And I keep trusting you, over and over, and I have to stop. I have to stop.” She turns back towards the elevator, presses the button. The red arrow lights up underneath her fingernail.

“Alicia.”

Alicia doesn’t speak. Neither does Kalinda, now. She just lists in her head all the ways she is probably going to destroy Alicia, no matter how she tries to stop it.

Kalinda touches Alicia, just her face, her soft cheek where the skin has begun to loosen.

The elevator door dings open, empty. Neither woman moves.


	6. Chapter 6

“You’re going to have to tell me.”

Alicia says it quietly, into the bare flesh of Kalinda’s shoulder, but Kalinda’s ribs freeze up against her chest.

“Is it your husband?”

She hasn’t said the word since the night Kalinda said it at the office.

Kalinda nods.

They tumbled back to Kalinda’s apartment from the parking garage, and it seems to Alicia that they’ve been here ever since, even though she must have returned to the office at least once along the way. (Kalinda insisted on her place rather than Alicia’s; it was the best way, she said, to keep Alicia’s children out of danger, and her tone brokered no argument.) Alicia’s memories of these last few days are already foggy—a kiss against her throat here, there a silent orgasm playing out on the canvas of Kalinda’s face, Kalinda’s hair fanning out loose against Alicia’s thigh. Kalinda has a tiny square skin graft at the small of her back, scar tissue striating out from it like an estuary.

Alicia’s breathless. Even Will hadn’t quite prepared her for this, the feeling that understanding will always be a few paces ahead of her, that she will only be able to catch it by means of another kiss, another night. She knows, just as she knew before she began, how bad an idea the whole affair is, and has guiltily called her children at Peter’s early every evening, a move that’s puzzled Grace and seemed to irritate Zach.

“We’re all right, Mom,” he said two nights ago. “We’re with _Dad_. You’ll see us Tuesday.” And then Alicia hung up and Kalinda greeted her with a kiss that rendered her gelatinous, and until the next morning she forgot what Tuesday was, forgot that a week was broken down into days, forgot that she had a job or a name. 

But every night, somewhere between embraces, the phone call has come—the one that leaves Kalinda wordless, biting her lips to whiteness, at least half an hour until Alicia can cajole her back. And tonight Alicia has realized she doesn’t want to wait, doesn’t want to defer. She doesn’t want to let it, or anything else, slide by.

Kalinda’s husband. It’s still a struggle to picture—Kalinda has been the antithesis of marriage since the moment Alicia met her.

Really, she thinks, gazing down the length of Kalinda’s naked and graceful spine, more so right now than ever.

“Does anyone … know?” Alicia says.

“A lot of people know.”

“At the firm.”

“Diane. No one else.”

Alicia rubs a hand along Kalinda’s shoulder. “Does he … what does he say to you?”

Kalinda doesn’t say anything. She leans back against Alicia, her hair blurring messily at the crook of Alicia’s neck.

Alicia strokes her forearm. She makes herself stay patient; she’s learned a few things, she thinks, about how to handle Kalinda. “I need to know, Kalinda. If anything happened to you—” For a second the words stick to her throat. She clears them and continues. “I would need to know. What to tell—the police, people. If you were—”

“It won’t happen, Alicia. It’s not like that.” Kalinda’s eyes are closed, and her right hand lies on Alicia’s left calf. Alicia’s chest rises and falls against her back.

“How do you know?”

Kalinda sighs. “He likes to know I’m suffering. That’s what the calls are for. If he kills me, I’m out of his hands. It’s not what he wants.”

The flesh on Kalinda’s back is, but for the graft, milky-smooth. Alicia circles her fingers, following the spiderweb lines of tension. “He won’t let you go to prison then. Will he?”

Kalinda considers this. “Probably not. But maybe.”

Alicia frowns. “It sounds … complicated.”

“Yeah.”

Alicia has to restrain herself from punching her.

“Do tell,” she says.

“It’s just what I said.” Kalinda pushes against Alicia, her spine hitting Alicia’s chest a bit forcefully. Alicia takes the hint and lies back against the pillow, Kalinda coming with her, Alicia’s arm still around Kalinda’s shoulders. They stare at the shadows on the white, white ceiling. “He likes it when I’m afraid. He always has.”

“How old were you?”

“Sixteen.”

Alicia thinks of Zach and Nisa, of Grace following that ridiculous kid from the internet down to Englewood and the fear of that day. Kalinda knew how to look for Grace, how to find her, how to bring her home. “How old was he?” she asks.

“Older.”

Now Alicia thinks of Zach and that manipulative older girl while Peter was in prison. The condoms, that abortion sign, how easily her son seemed to be played.

Kalinda continues, her voice quiet and expressionless, “I didn’t have much choice. Your kids will, Alicia, they do already. You shouldn’t worry.”

Alicia pulls Kalinda a little closer.

“He was a cop, actually,” Kalinda says. “When I first.”

Kalinda stops speaking, doesn’t finish the sentence. Her mouth trembles, as if she can’t quite close it, can’t quite get it to move. “He got you out of trouble?” Alicia guesses softly.

“Yeah.”

Alicia feels sick. She doesn’t know what questions to ask, how to understand this, what there is to understand, and Kalinda’s flesh feels colder to the touch. “When did … when did it start?” Alicia says.

“It was always like that,” Kalinda says. “It just took me a while to—understand. When he was a cop there was a little, um, you know. Cop friends. Kept him in check. But then after he got shot …” She exhales through her nose.

The curtains are parted—Alicia’s not sure when it happened, though she recalls catching her own smug reflection in the window earlier tonight while Kalinda, lips parted and eyes squeezed shut, came beneath her—and the beams from the streetlights downstairs cast long lines along the ceiling. The glare washes out Alicia’s skin, yellows Kalinda’s.

“He got _shot_?” Alicia says. She finds it difficult to keep track of what Kalinda is saying.

“Yeah. So he had to retire, and he was … then there usually wasn’t anyone else around, and it got … harder. All of it. I … I had to leave.”

“Did something happen?”

“No,” Kalinda says quickly. “Blake was right. I just got bored.”

“Blake?” How did he get into this story?

“He said I got bored.” Kalinda shifts, turns slightly away from Alicia. “With my old life.”

“When did he say that?”

“Um. When I talked to him, that time.” Kalinda kicks the summer-weight quilt off their feet. Alicia feels cool air on her toes. “I thought—thought I told you.”

“No.” Alicia says it carefully. Blake belongs to a distant past, one of many, that there is no room for in this bed.

“Sorry.”

“You just got _bored_ ,” Alicia repeats incredulously.

Kalinda turns, burrows her head into the flesh of Alicia’s chest. “If I’d stayed … I couldn’t have. It—it would have been bad.” Alicia can barely make out her words, but she feels them bounce against her skin. “Please, Alicia. Really.”

Alicia has about a thousand questions, none of which she can ask the woman in her arms. She needs to go back in time, to become the pro bono attorney for this desperate girl—this _child_ , no older than Zach, and Alicia can picture her face, all huge, furious, lost eyes—and show her somehow that there could be other paths, other choices, open to her right there. That she doesn’t have to take painful years to unearth them entirely on her own, years that will leave her too brave and too afraid. Instead Alicia lifts the adult Kalinda’s chin and kisses her, the musky taste of her lips now familiar, and Kalinda responds with the fierce tenderness that seems to be her trademark. She rolls over onto Alicia, tracing the outlines of her face with one finger, their pointed nipples meeting and rubbing. Alicia still has not gotten over the shock of how light Kalinda is, how tiny.

“Just keep a low profile,” Kalinda murmurs, kissing behind Alicia’s ear. “Please. Okay?”

“A low profile?” Alicia’s confused, laughs a little. Kalinda kisses her lightly mid-laugh, caresses her shoulder. “It’s a bit late in my life for that, Kalinda. I’m a scandal wife. And the future First Lady of Illinois. And hasn’t Eli Gold ever told you I’m a gay icon?”

“Are you really,” Kalinda breathes against her throat.

“It’s true!” Alicia says, stroking the back of Kalinda’s neck and sighing as Kalinda licks her way along. She’d like to hold Kalinda to her a little longer, but Kalinda seems impatient, hungry, everywhere on Alicia at once, and Alicia’s already finding it hard to keep track of the pleasure. Kalinda looks up, smiles for what might be the first time in hours, and pulls Alicia up towards her, taking her lips in a full, delicious kiss.

The sweetness is so pervasive, it takes Alicia a moment to notice that the air in the room has changed. She pulls back from Kalinda and is startled to see, over her lover’s shoulder, a man in the bedroom doorway, nodding as he watches them, a light, twisty smile dancing on his lips.


	7. Chapter 7

“Old habits die hard, eh?”

It all comes together in a split second in Kalinda’s head—the voice, the sudden blossoming of shock and fear on Alicia’s face, the clicks she heard as if from a distance while ensconced in the scent of Alicia’s skin—and she’s rolled off Alicia, turned, and sat up in a fluid motion, making sure to keep her body between Nick and Alicia, to obscure Alicia from his vision as much as she can. “I was wondering when you were going to come by.”

“Yeah, good to see you.” He grins, and remembering alights on Kalinda like a bird of prey. She looks at him steadily. There is nothing here she can’t handle. A glance down his body—softened a little in the intervening years—shows her that everything about this moment, down to the fact that she is barely dressed, can be an asset. Same Nick, same idiocies, same weaknesses, same attempts to catch her off guard. She, however, has changed. He is not expecting Kalinda. She can make this work.

“Could’ve knocked.”

“Somehow I don’t think you would have heard me.” He smiles, gives Alicia—who thankfully has turned sideways, is gathering her bra and blouse from the floor and is scrambling to put them on, her hair hiding her face—a little wave. Kalinda shifts, as unobtrusively as possible.

“If I’d known you were coming—”

“You’d have baked a cake,” he says. “And eaten it too.” His smile is steady, cold. Kalinda feels the years slipping backwards under her bare feet. “I had your name on a Google Alert. Just in case they started talking about you someday. So then I got in touch with this Agent Delaney of yours.”

“Seems like you and she are getting along well.”

“Lana? Oh, she’s a sweetheart,” he says, his voice grating against the word. “She seems very, very interested in your case.”

_Lana, you fucking idiot_. But Kalinda can’t think about her now. Lana has made her own choices; the problems that come with them are hers to think about. “She’s got bigger fish to fry,” she says, keeping her voice level.

“Well, she’s left it in my hands, then,” he says. “And I’m going to enjoy seeing you get what you deserve, Leela, I am.”

“It’s never had much to do with what either of us deserves,” Kalinda says carefully.

His expression changes then, and again Kalinda figures it out just a second too late. She turns her head and sees that Alicia—dressed, a robe in one hand that Kalinda ignores—is standing behind her.

“Well, hey. Mrs. Florrick,” says Nick, his lips stretching, showing teeth.

Fuck.

“Hello,” says Alicia. She puts a hand on Kalinda’s shoulder, some foolish gesture of protection. Kalinda shrugs it off. Nick’s smile widens.

Fuck.

“I can’t tell you,” says Nick, “how impressed I am with that husband of yours. And you. You both have a great deal of …” He pauses. “Self-restraint.”

“That may be the first time anyone has ever said that of Peter,” says Alicia. Kalinda feels it somewhere far down in her gut, like sonar leagues beneath the sea. Alicia’s tone says she’s not sure what to make of this, Nick’s false friendliness, Kalinda’s rigidity.

“Maybe,” says Nick with a shrug. “But he’s an admirable man. I hope he gets to be governor. And you, you are an admirable woman. I’m glad you’ve been keeping Leela company.”

Alicia doesn’t answer.

“I did hear you were representing her,” Nick continues. “But it seems like maybe there was a—what do they call it?—a conflict of interests.”

Alicia, of course, knows nothing, so it falls to Kalinda to restrain herself without Alicia’s help. She’s tense with the effort.

“Well,” Nick says. “I came by because we have a lot to talk about, Leela, you and I. The house and all that. But Mrs. Florrick, it’s kind of private business, and I can see you two are busy. So I’ll stop by another time.”

“I don’t think you will,” Alicia says. Kalinda needs her to stop.

“I think I will, Mrs. Florrick, thanks.” He dismisses Alicia, a quick turn in his eye that Kalinda would have missed if she didn’t know to look for it. He will not get at Alicia. He cannot do this again. She cannot do this again.

“I’ll be ready next time,” Kalinda says, keeping her tone smooth enough to play down the threat.

“The time after that, Leela. Next time’s in court. I won’t have time to come over again before then, sorry.” He walks into the living room. Kalinda follows, even though she knows Alicia will too. “I had some ideas, Leela. A few suggestions. There might be other ways we could handle this, you know, besides this trial. It’s pretty risky for you, you know. But with Mrs. Florrick around … maybe it’s not a good idea.”

“Maybe not.” Kalinda raises her chin.

“So I’ll see you Thursday, yes, Leela?” he says. “And Mrs. Florrick, should I assume you’ll be there too?”

Alicia seems finally to understand that she shouldn’t speak. If only she hadn’t shown her face.

“I’ll see you there,” says Kalinda. “If nothing goes wrong.”

“Oh, Leela,” he says, smiling, his voice thin and sharp like a splinter of glass. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

He’s out the door, and it clicks behind him. Kalinda rushes to bolt it, chain it, lock the barn door after the horse has gone.

She hears Alicia padding behind her. Alicia places that robe around Kalinda’s shoulders, then catches Kalinda before her legs give way. She enfolds Kalinda in her arms, as if it were natural, as if that were simply what people did. And for a few seconds, before reason takes hold, Kalinda feels safe, Alicia’s silk blouse light against her cheek, her chest rising and falling, quick and even.

“I’ll get back on your case,” Alicia says softly into Kalinda’s ear, breath like desert breezes. “I’ll talk to Diane. I heard enough there to cast some serious doubt on his credibility on the stand.”

“No,” says Kalinda, desperate to disguise the shaking in her voice. “No, you stay away from him.”

“I will not, Kalinda.” Alicia pulls back to look at Kalinda’s face, her hands resting on Kalinda’s shoulders. “Let me help you.”

“It won’t help, Alicia,” Kalinda says. “It’ll only …” She doesn’t want to finish the sentence, and really she wants to twist away from Alicia, run until she hits an ocean, another country. Before losing Alicia becomes more terrifying than it already is.

“You said he wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Not like that.”

Kalinda stares at Alicia, swallows. Now she has to fill her mind with just this picture of Alicia, just this moment, nothing else, to keep the other memories from seeping in. 

But the worst thing, she knows, she _knows_ , would be not to tell Alicia, not to let her understand. After Kalinda’s betrayal that was all Alicia asked for, and she still hasn’t been able to provide it. She needs to now.

“He wouldn’t hurt _me_ ,” Kalinda says slowly, exhaling.

Alicia searches her face. She says quietly, “Me?”

“I—I didn’t want him to see you.”

And with that frustrating, invasive ability she’s developed over the last few days, Alicia puts it together: Kalinda watches the connections being made behind her still, still eyes.

“This happened before.” Alicia’s voice stays low.

Kalinda gives a jerky nod.

“And he …”

“Yeah.” Kalinda says it fast. She needs her composure right now, and if she steps any further into the Toronto of her memory the strings keeping her together will snap apart, one by one, tinny popping noises echoing behind her eardrums. She’s still holding onto Alicia’s waist, their pelvises pressed together, and Alicia still has her hands on Kalinda’s shoulders. “Yeah. It … happened before.”

Alicia’s eyes are wide. She leans in to kiss Kalinda, and Kalinda, as best she can in her grip, pulls back. The selfishness, the utter _selfishness_ , of every second she’s spent with Alicia is threatening to cave in on her.

“ _Don’t_ , Alicia!”

Alicia’s expression is shocked and hurt. Kalinda has seen that face too much, wants to turn away from it, but the least she can do for Alicia is let her know what she’s dealing with. “And I was going to kill him,” she says, the words squealing out of her rusty throat. “I left so—so I wouldn’t.”

Kalinda has to sit down. It’s all there: the body (unquestionably a body by the time Leela found her, everything already gone); the last weeks Leela spent at home with Nick after she saw it, full of grief and repulsion and restraint; the smell of the fire while she stood still, her eyes closed, for just a second before she rushed away. They fill her to the roots of her hair, the tips of her fingers. She will go to prison and have only these things for company. Kalinda Sharma, as the judicial system has been quick to remind her, is an illusion, and Leela Tahiri was nothing but destruction, couldn’t even kill at the right time.

Alicia offers her hand, which Kalinda seizes in spite of herself. Alicia, who for the first time in years might have gotten some peace, a few inches of space—instead, Kalinda has dragged her into this. While Kalinda’s in a cell in Waseca, helpless, haunted by the body and the woman it was, what will Nick do with Alicia? And what will Kalinda do without her?

That last question enters unbidden, and joins the fears that are racing in circles around Kalinda’s mind. Alicia just kneels beside her for Kalinda doesn’t even know how long, her hand resting on Kalinda’s.

“I wanted to kill him after just a few minutes,” Alicia says quietly. “So I completely understand where you’re coming from.” She smiles, trying to show Kalinda that she’s injecting some levity, and she is so damn beautiful that Kalinda smiles back.

“Peter knows about all this,” Alicia says then. “Right?”

“Sort of.”

“Kalinda, what the hell are you protecting me from?” Alicia’s tone is fierce. Kalinda bites her lip. “I know what Peter did. I know what you did. I know you each can hurt me, because you have. I know the man who just left is dangerous, because he made that perfectly clear. If I’m not safe now, I want to have some choices about how to handle it. It does not work out well when the people I love try to keep me safe. That’s the last three years of my life. I want to try something new.”

Alicia looks at her. There is not a single portion of that statement Kalinda feels capable of responding to.

“So let’s try that again,” Alicia says. “Peter knows, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And Peter … got you Kalinda.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you considered using that?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You,” Kalinda says. If that isn’t forthcoming enough for Alicia, then Kalinda is out of ideas. “Your kids.”

“We can handle it,” Alicia says. “We already have.” She takes a deep breath. “Better than I would handle it if anything happened to you.”

“That’s why I shouldn’t have—”

“Shut _up_ ,” Alicia says impatiently. “Haven’t—you’ve been happy. Haven’t you?”

Happy. Kalinda’s not sure—these days, with Alicia, have been too filled with fear and anticipation. She’s been too desperately missing Lockhart/Gardner and the constant, fruitful use of her own mind. She’s been too paralyzed waiting for Nick.

What she knows she has been is lucky. Kalinda knows what it is to have that kind of luck, on scales from large to small, and certainly she knows what it is to squander and destroy it.

“Yeah,” she says.

“Then you should have. I don’t regret it. I’m not regretting it now.”

One of Alicia’s hands cups Kalinda’s cheek. Against her will, Kalinda leans into it, feels Alicia’s fingerprints on her flesh.

“We’re going to find a way,” Alicia says quietly.

Kalinda has always found her own way. Since Nick. Until now.

“I will talk to Peter,” Alicia says. “And I will talk to Diane. And you will stay safe, and you will not do anything to protect me.”

Kalinda looks at her.

Alicia just looks back.

Kalinda swallows. “Please—please take care of yourself.”

“Only if you do too,” Alicia says. Her hand hasn’t left Kalinda’s face. She puts her other hand to Kalinda’s other cheek and pulls Kalinda towards her, kisses her. Her hand slides down Kalinda’s spine. Kalinda slips her tongue between Alicia’s lips, her breath coming heavy and fast. Alicia is holding her, and she is not alone.

Even thinking those words is shocking. She weathers the shock, pressing close to Alicia as Alicia sighs. She is not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed to end this … I know I left the plot wide open. But I still hope you enjoyed.


End file.
